


Take Me Back To The Start

by plinys



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-25 05:37:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2610431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/pseuds/plinys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“If you keep at it like that, you’re going to drink yourself into an early grave.” </p><p>“Maybe that’s the point, love?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Me Back To The Start

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr.

“If you keep at it like that,” Bobbi says, pulling the bottle from his hands, “you’re going to drink yourself into an early grave.”

“Maybe that’s the point, love?”

She doesn’t give him the bottle back, but she doesn’t say anything either, just takes a long drink out of the bottle herself, before settling down onto the other side of the couch.

It’s almost domestic the way they’re sitting there, not saying anything, her feet tucking up under his thighs as she settles onto the couch feels so much like old times that it almost makes him feel worse that he already does.

Thankfully when he holds out his hand for the bottle she returns it to him, fingers brushing up against his for the briefest of moments.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He arches an eyebrow at her, the unspoken answer clearly as he brings the bottle up to his lips again.

“Figured,” she nods her own head, “when I checked my calendar this morning-”

“Bob,” he cuts her off, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Under any other circumstances this would be the moment where she would quip something like ‘ _really you not wanting to talk, what a surprise’_ and he would say something equally snarky in reply.

But the words die on his lips before they could even be former.

“Want to steal the keys for the quinjet and-“

“ _Please_ , no.”

They haven’t talked about this yet; everything that happened.

He’s sure Coulson briefed her when she arrived (or returned), but Lance hadn’t been there- he hadn’t wanted to be there. When she returned he had made his excuses that he was avoiding her because they were exes and that was enough of an excuse for everyone else.

The truth was more along the lines that he had been avoiding this conversation.

“They were my friends too,” Bobbi says, taking the bottle from him this time, and taking a long drink out of it, “in case you forgot.”

“I didn’t forget.”

 _I can’t forget_ , is what he doesn’t say.

No matter how hard he tries it’s all still there. Somebody will say something: Skye will shoot finger guns at him, or May will sigh exasperatedly at him- and he doesn’t meant to be thinking of _them_ but the little things will remind him and the sinking feeling returns.

“It’s my fault, you know,” he says, “if I’d just stuck with the plan-“

She lets out a noise that could almost be considered a laugh, if it wasn’t so deeply bitter, “I blamed myself at first, for giving Coulson your team’s  number.”

“Izzy would have done something without your push,” he points out.

“I know.”

This time when he reaches back for the bottle and she returns it, her fingers linger on his with certainty, there’s no missing it now. He wants to give into that lingering touch, but they both mean different things by it, and _this_ is not the time for their issues to crop up.

“We could drive there.”

“You’ve been drinking,” she says, gesturing to the bottle that he refuses to return.

“So what,” he shrugs, “we’re spies, or you are, I’m just a m-“

“A terrible spy,” she finishes sounding more like herself just there than she had moments before.

“Touché.”

Somebody had even called him _Agent Hunter_ the other day, admittedly it was somebody who probably didn’t know any better, but the fact of the matter was that he wasn’t a mercenary anymore, not really. And while he could technically walk out of this place at any time and go back to his old work, it wouldn’t be right.

Izzy had wanted to be here, but she was gone, and leaving without her just didn’t feel right.

“I’ll drive you there, if you want,” Bobbi says, “and if you can tell me with a straight face that this isn’t to fuel some depressive, possibly suicidal, part of you.”

He doesn’t answer the question.

Though really she didn’t need him too.

They’ve both always been a bit too good about reading each other, that was half the problem of marrying a spy.

She pulls away from him on the couch, standing up in one fluid motion before holding out a hand in his direction. Maybe he’s a bit too drunk, because his first thought is to put the bottle into her hand, but she pushes it aside with a frown. It takes him a second to put his other hand in hers, the way she clearly wanted, so she could help him up off the couch.

“I’m putting you to bed,” she says, in no uncertain terms, “and tomorrow if you still want to go, we’ll go.”

“I won’t.”

“No,” she agrees, “you won’t.”


End file.
